Thursday, September 18, 2008
Sunday, September 14, 2008
The Teeth
I'm having a root canal on Tuesday. It will be my third or fourth (I've lost count) in the past nine years. All of this is triggered by being completely asinine on December 31, 1998.
I had been in DC for nearly a year and 1/2 at that point, so I'm not sure why I was so convinced that I was going to get lost in Chicago. But, I was. Terrified. My sister and I went to visit her friend from nursing school, Connie--my first visit to the Windy City.
I was always the responsible one, so everyone decided at the beginning of the night that I should be the keeper of the keys, cash, id and lipstick. I put the coat check tickets in my pocket and we headed into what looked like a high school gym decorated for the prom. There were about 5 stairs, a landing, and then 5 more stairs. My sister fell down the first set and Connie fell down the second set--both of them giggling the whole time. I knew I was in for it at that point.
If you can't beat em, join em, right? So, little Miss Responsible decided to just loosen up. However, the fear was apparently still present because I remember trying to keep up with Connie's feathered coat after standing up and spitting out my teeth. It would seem that I hit a patch of ice on the sidewalk after Connie and I abandoned my sister at the prom. I don't remember the impact, just standing up and spitting my teeth out. It being New Year's and all, I didn't want to impede anyone's good time, so I popped right back up. I remember looking at the top of my left wrist and noticing it was "scratched," so I pulled my coat down over it and dashed to keep up with Connie.
I caught her as she was walking into the bar. I pulled my ID out of my pocket and handed it to the bouncer.
Ya'll, I had just spit my teeth out and I HANDED THE BOUNCER MY ID LIKE IT WAS A TUESDAY NIGHT AT CAP LOUNGE. Can you imagine what he thought? I often crack up wondering about the people who MUST have seen me hit the pavement. Don't you know they are still telling the stories of that girl who bit it on New Year's that time?
At any rate, Connie turned around to ask if I wanted a "bee-OH MY GOD! What happened?" she hadn't even noticed that I fell. I must have convinced her to just head home, because my next real memory is sitting in her den while she called the doc on call for her practice (she's OB GYN) to ask if losing a tooth is like loosing a finger, "Do we need to go back and get it?"
I finally convinced her that I didn't need to go to the OR and headed to bed.
When I woke up the next morning, my first thought was, "Oh, God. Please let that have been a nightmare," but the washcloth on my hand gave it away. A quick run of my tongue over where my teeth used to be confirmed that I was remembering things correctly. And I just cracked up. I mean, what are you going to do at that point?
So, I called my dad and asked him to call the dentist I had just met a few days before and I rearranged our flights and we headed to the airport. My sister had to sit down in the middle of O'Hare a couple of times, she was laughing so hard, and I had to inform a crazy lady that her "kind" solicitation of moving seats was not going to happen considering I felt worse than I looked (capped off with a big smile), but all in all, the flight was uneventful. Ends up, my arm was broken, too, so that was our first stop once we got back to Mayberry. The orthopedic surgeon who lived down the street said he wasn't worried about my arm; it was my mouth that was troubling (his wife burst into tears at the sight of me).
We met the dentist at his office, and fours hour later, I had some front teeth again. I had to come back on Monday (I think this was a Friday or Saturday) for a root canal and some finish work, and returned the following April for another root canal.
I'm pretty sure I had another root canal a year or two ago, so they are pretty much old hat at this point. But when I started having pain in my right front tooth last week and googled "tooth pain in a tooth that's already had a root canal," I panicked a little. I tried to hedge my bets at the dentist on Friday, but it became crystal clear that the nerve in my right front tooth is dead as a door nail. I just knew it was going to have to be pulled, but ends up, old righty had been spared a root canal up to this point. So, because of one too many awful cosmos at a grown up prom nearly 10 years ago, I get to have my fourth root canal on Tuesday.
And that's the story of how I lost my teeth.
I had been in DC for nearly a year and 1/2 at that point, so I'm not sure why I was so convinced that I was going to get lost in Chicago. But, I was. Terrified. My sister and I went to visit her friend from nursing school, Connie--my first visit to the Windy City.
I was always the responsible one, so everyone decided at the beginning of the night that I should be the keeper of the keys, cash, id and lipstick. I put the coat check tickets in my pocket and we headed into what looked like a high school gym decorated for the prom. There were about 5 stairs, a landing, and then 5 more stairs. My sister fell down the first set and Connie fell down the second set--both of them giggling the whole time. I knew I was in for it at that point.
If you can't beat em, join em, right? So, little Miss Responsible decided to just loosen up. However, the fear was apparently still present because I remember trying to keep up with Connie's feathered coat after standing up and spitting out my teeth. It would seem that I hit a patch of ice on the sidewalk after Connie and I abandoned my sister at the prom. I don't remember the impact, just standing up and spitting my teeth out. It being New Year's and all, I didn't want to impede anyone's good time, so I popped right back up. I remember looking at the top of my left wrist and noticing it was "scratched," so I pulled my coat down over it and dashed to keep up with Connie.
I caught her as she was walking into the bar. I pulled my ID out of my pocket and handed it to the bouncer.
Ya'll, I had just spit my teeth out and I HANDED THE BOUNCER MY ID LIKE IT WAS A TUESDAY NIGHT AT CAP LOUNGE. Can you imagine what he thought? I often crack up wondering about the people who MUST have seen me hit the pavement. Don't you know they are still telling the stories of that girl who bit it on New Year's that time?
At any rate, Connie turned around to ask if I wanted a "bee-OH MY GOD! What happened?" she hadn't even noticed that I fell. I must have convinced her to just head home, because my next real memory is sitting in her den while she called the doc on call for her practice (she's OB GYN) to ask if losing a tooth is like loosing a finger, "Do we need to go back and get it?"
I finally convinced her that I didn't need to go to the OR and headed to bed.
When I woke up the next morning, my first thought was, "Oh, God. Please let that have been a nightmare," but the washcloth on my hand gave it away. A quick run of my tongue over where my teeth used to be confirmed that I was remembering things correctly. And I just cracked up. I mean, what are you going to do at that point?
So, I called my dad and asked him to call the dentist I had just met a few days before and I rearranged our flights and we headed to the airport. My sister had to sit down in the middle of O'Hare a couple of times, she was laughing so hard, and I had to inform a crazy lady that her "kind" solicitation of moving seats was not going to happen considering I felt worse than I looked (capped off with a big smile), but all in all, the flight was uneventful. Ends up, my arm was broken, too, so that was our first stop once we got back to Mayberry. The orthopedic surgeon who lived down the street said he wasn't worried about my arm; it was my mouth that was troubling (his wife burst into tears at the sight of me).
We met the dentist at his office, and fours hour later, I had some front teeth again. I had to come back on Monday (I think this was a Friday or Saturday) for a root canal and some finish work, and returned the following April for another root canal.
I'm pretty sure I had another root canal a year or two ago, so they are pretty much old hat at this point. But when I started having pain in my right front tooth last week and googled "tooth pain in a tooth that's already had a root canal," I panicked a little. I tried to hedge my bets at the dentist on Friday, but it became crystal clear that the nerve in my right front tooth is dead as a door nail. I just knew it was going to have to be pulled, but ends up, old righty had been spared a root canal up to this point. So, because of one too many awful cosmos at a grown up prom nearly 10 years ago, I get to have my fourth root canal on Tuesday.
And that's the story of how I lost my teeth.
Friday, September 12, 2008
When Will took the field for his first soccer game last weekend, I couldn't stop laughing. And crying. And I thought, "oh my god, what is wrong with me? I am crying over a 3 year old soccer game." About that time, my sister piped up from her position on the grass, "I can't stop laughing!" But I knew she was covering up because she was feeling the exact same way that I was.
Then, I read this post. She says it better than I could ever hope.
Then, I read this post. She says it better than I could ever hope.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
Questions
As I've mentioned, I didn't get the chance to marinate in the post 9-11 coverage--or really, the present 9-11 coverage like I would have wanted. I took the year after off and stayed home from class and watched TV all day. I've never been able to repeat that, but I do tend to watch everything I can.
I was reminded tonight that I kept wondering where the plane went. I know it hit the building, but it's got to be a lot bigger than that building, right? Even if it wasn't bigger, it seemed to me that it should have come out of the other side. I couldn't comprehend that the buildings just swallowed the plane whole.
Would you have jumped? I don't think I would have had the guts. I've never had the guts to jump off a high dive; I can't imagine jumping from those towers. As a general rule, I'm not very good in a physical crisis anyway. I think I probably would have followed the instructions to remain in the building--that's me. The rule follower.
I don't think I ever really comprehended the extent of the heroism of the people on Flight 93 until this year. Those people saved the Capitol--a building I love.
Do you remember the feeling of dread wondering what was going to happen next? I didn't feel like a target in the middle of Georgia, but I still braced myself for weeks everytime a plane flew over head. Except in DC--where the sound of the circling F-14's lulled me to sleep during my visit.
Have you heard about these guys?
What do you remember?
I was reminded tonight that I kept wondering where the plane went. I know it hit the building, but it's got to be a lot bigger than that building, right? Even if it wasn't bigger, it seemed to me that it should have come out of the other side. I couldn't comprehend that the buildings just swallowed the plane whole.
Would you have jumped? I don't think I would have had the guts. I've never had the guts to jump off a high dive; I can't imagine jumping from those towers. As a general rule, I'm not very good in a physical crisis anyway. I think I probably would have followed the instructions to remain in the building--that's me. The rule follower.
I don't think I ever really comprehended the extent of the heroism of the people on Flight 93 until this year. Those people saved the Capitol--a building I love.
Do you remember the feeling of dread wondering what was going to happen next? I didn't feel like a target in the middle of Georgia, but I still braced myself for weeks everytime a plane flew over head. Except in DC--where the sound of the circling F-14's lulled me to sleep during my visit.
Have you heard about these guys?
What do you remember?
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Three Years Ago
Lots of people have been remembering where they were three years ago--in the aftermath of Katrina. In spite of my penchant for marinating in news coverage of national crises, I didn't watch much of the Katrina coverage. You see, my sister was scheduled for a C-Section the Wednesday after Labor Day and we were busy purging her lovely garage apartment of every piece of licensed character paraphernalia she had received at her showers. Not because she is some hipster parent who is against licensed characters (just ask Thomas), but because she was a very pregnant woman with a vicious hatred for Winnie the Pooh.
There are a ton of great memories from that week, but every single one is bittersweet. You see, my sister had not followed the path I had always dreamed of for her. I had always dreamed that she would marry one of her beautiful athlete friends and make beautiful, athletic, smart children with him. Pat was my first choice, by the way.
Instead, she had made the choice, at 34, to have a baby she knew was loved and wanted and who would be unwaveringly supported--even if it was only from his maternal side of the family. Unfortunately, the male contributor of DNA is so much less than anything I ever dreamed for my sister, and every single memory of that week is tinged with this knowledge.
I've got two or three different drafts of this post saved. I hesitate to publish anything (I am an attorney. There's a reason my first stop upon them wheeling my sister to the OR that morning was the nurses station for some paper. Present recollection recorded--hearsay exception?) about that time. Then, I decide to go for it and realize that the play by play doesn't matter. The bottom line is that he is an alcoholic and drug addict and unfortunately, having a baby didn't change him one bit.
I called my sister tonight to check in. She and my nephew were looking at pictures together. She said that he is especially enamored with the shots featuring her blood and guts (he is obviously his mother's child). He was very nonchalantly narrating everything for me when suddenly, his voice got very excited: That's YOU, Sissy!
That's right, buddy. I was right there for you from the beginning. I am honored to have spent that first night of your life with you. And, I can promise you that I will remain right there with you for the rest of my life. And in the end, that's all that matters. May you rest secured in the knowledge that you have an army of unwavering support behind you at all times. And may that be enough to make up for any inadequacies. I hope you learn that you never need to look back and check--we'll be right there.
Now, chop chop. You owe me a house in Provence. Let's get to work on that.
There are a ton of great memories from that week, but every single one is bittersweet. You see, my sister had not followed the path I had always dreamed of for her. I had always dreamed that she would marry one of her beautiful athlete friends and make beautiful, athletic, smart children with him. Pat was my first choice, by the way.
Instead, she had made the choice, at 34, to have a baby she knew was loved and wanted and who would be unwaveringly supported--even if it was only from his maternal side of the family. Unfortunately, the male contributor of DNA is so much less than anything I ever dreamed for my sister, and every single memory of that week is tinged with this knowledge.
I've got two or three different drafts of this post saved. I hesitate to publish anything (I am an attorney. There's a reason my first stop upon them wheeling my sister to the OR that morning was the nurses station for some paper. Present recollection recorded--hearsay exception?) about that time. Then, I decide to go for it and realize that the play by play doesn't matter. The bottom line is that he is an alcoholic and drug addict and unfortunately, having a baby didn't change him one bit.
I called my sister tonight to check in. She and my nephew were looking at pictures together. She said that he is especially enamored with the shots featuring her blood and guts (he is obviously his mother's child). He was very nonchalantly narrating everything for me when suddenly, his voice got very excited: That's YOU, Sissy!
That's right, buddy. I was right there for you from the beginning. I am honored to have spent that first night of your life with you. And, I can promise you that I will remain right there with you for the rest of my life. And in the end, that's all that matters. May you rest secured in the knowledge that you have an army of unwavering support behind you at all times. And may that be enough to make up for any inadequacies. I hope you learn that you never need to look back and check--we'll be right there.
Now, chop chop. You owe me a house in Provence. Let's get to work on that.
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